Stone was a man I didn’t know much about, but one who was just as connected with the Ruin as I was. Although he and I weren’t friends and had no connection other than the same crime syndicate, we’d crossed professional paths more than once, and I did hold mild respect for him because of that.
I didn’t see him as even an acquaintance, but he also wasn’t my enemy, and because of the latter, I’d help get him the fuck out of here instead of killing him. Because if he were anyone else, any other poor bastard who was in the wrong place at the wrong time and allowed themselves to be vulnerable, I’d get rid of them so there wasn’t even more fallback.
Stone was lying on the ground, the corpse not far from him. If I hadn't seen Stone’s chest rise and fall, I might have taken his otherwise still body as being long dead.
When I was beside him, I crouched and just stared at him for a moment. I didn’t know what the fuck had gone down here for Stone to even be in this situation, nor did I care. He needed out so I could get my shit done.
I said in a low, deep voice, “Wake up, dumbass.” He didn’t respond, and I said louder, “Open your eyes.” Stone groaned, and a moment later he obeyed, his eyes opening and the fuzziness in the dark depths fading as the seconds moved by and he got his bearings. “Come on, time for you to get the fuck gone, Stone.”
“Arlo?” he prompted gruffly before coughing, blood spraying from his lips and covering my shirt with red droplets.
I glanced down at the blood on my white shirt that looked black on the material from the ominous lighting. Fucking perfect. “Come on,” I said again and helped him off the ground. “Let's get you out of here so I can do my job.”
Stone didn’t say anything as he looked at my face, his gaze taking in the busted lip and cut above my eye.
“What the fuck?” he grunted out.
I didn’t bother responding to the clear fact that I’d gotten in a fight. If you were part of the Ruin, you knew not to ask too many questions.
He braced his weight against me. “But how? Why?”
I didn’t know if he’d been hit over the head and that’s why he kept running his mouth, but I helped him out of the warehouse. Maybe some fresh air would clear his mind. “See, those are questions. And I don't want fucking questions.”
“I don't understand.”
I wasn’t sure what he was going on about, most likely private business. Either way, not my concern. Stone rested against the side of the slaughterhouse, and I grabbed my cell. After a quick call to the Ruin for a pickup, I disconnected the call and shoved my cell back in my pocket. I knew whoever wanted Stone dead would want confirmation, but that wasn’t my fucking concern.
Ten minutes later a car’s headlights flashed, and the vehicle was coming to a stop beside us.
“Just get the fuck out of here, Stone. You want to survive? Leave.”
He nodded. “But what about you?”
I shook my head and said nothing. I stared him in the eyes, seeing what a hardheaded bastard he was.
I ran a hand over my face, feeling a rush of pleasure when my palm scraped over my busted lip.
“Thanks.” He opened the back passenger-side door.
I tipped my head in acknowledgment. Fortunately he didn't say anything else, just sat in the back and shut the door.
I stood there and watched him leave, pissed that my otherwise “normalcy” of a fix had been met with extra strings tonight.
When the car was long gone, the cloaking darkness closing in on me once more, I turned and headed back inside, about to do what I did best.
Surround myself in everything fucked up.
8
Galina
I curled my fingers around the edge of the newspaper, trying to stop my hands from shaking, but it was a losing battle. The black-and-white picture and headline started to run together the longer I stared at them. It was as if what I was looking at mocked me, reminding me that my life had never been easy, that I’d never get the happily ever after I’d read about in books.
Michael Boyd. Thirty-nine years old. Convicted sexual assault and rape felon. Multiple drug counts. Two probation violations. Details not being released as of now, but homicide is being looked into.
The picture I currently looked at was the same drunk who’d accosted me in the alley. It was a mug shot, one where he looked just as deranged as he had every time I’d seen him in the diner. I closed my eyes and breathed out slowly as memories of that night in the alley played back. With it only being a couple of days since the attack, it was still very fresh, but all my life, I’d learned how to bury those feelings, that fear and anxiousness, the heavy weight that could make you suffocate.
“It’s crazy, right?”
I opened my eyes and blinked a few times to look at Laura, who stood beside me. She was staring at the newspaper, her brows pulled low.
“Crazy?” Was she talking about the fact that it was a murder so close, or because she recognized him? I knew she’d seen him harass me. It was hard to miss when he was loud and obnoxious and didn’t exactly hide that he was an asshole whenever he’d come in.
She tipped her chin toward the paper. “That’s the same asshole who came in here and was a prick to you. I remember what a bastard he was. I can’t say he didn’t get what he deserved.” She pointed to the charges he’d been convicted of.
“Yeah,” I said softly and folded the paper up before shoving it under the counter. I didn't want to look at it anymore. Laura blinked a few times as if pulling herself out of her own thoughts.
“I really hate this fucking city most days.”
I snorted. “Most days?”
She gave me a tight nod. “Ninety-nine percent of the time, okay.”
I laughed softly. I’d only been here a couple of months, and I despised everything Desolation stood for. The only positive thing about this hell was that it helped keep me hidden.
“Anyway,” she said. “Good riddance.”
I couldn’t help but smile warily. I was tired, just really damn tired. I wanted to save up as much as I could so I could move to a better place, a place where I’d reinvent myself, a place where the past wasn’t always chasing me.
But that seemed like such a pipe dream and not at all realistic. The truth was I’d probably be dead before my twenty-fifth birthday, and that was being optimistic.
“So…”
The way she paused made me think she was hesitant to ask me whatever was on her mind.
“Total subject shift, but you want to make a little—easy—extra money?”
My interest was instantly piqued, as if she’d read my mind on needing money to get out of here. But my hesitance had risen instantly. Earning money was never easy.
“You wouldn’t have to do anything illegal, nothing depraved or that goes against your moral compass.” She laughed a little, but it wasn’t forced.
“I’m listening,” I said slowly, cautiously.
“So I waitress at this bar sometimes, and they’re looking for a couple of extra hands.” When I didn’t say anything, she continued, “It’s that Russian bar called Sdat'sya.” I shrugged, never having heard of it. “They are short-staffed, and it’s basically just serving drinks to a bunch of old, rich, Russian businessmen.”